


Speechless

by ReddishRodya



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: But maybe not as good as he should have been, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Other, PoC Hawke, Purple Hawke, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, Varric has a nickname for Hawke, because I say so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:06:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6944758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReddishRodya/pseuds/ReddishRodya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric had never seen Grey Hawke speechless. Then her mother died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speechless

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I wrote this a while ago when I was replaying DA2. It's not super good and it's not very long, but I kinda feel like I should be archiving my writing here, and I just kinda posted it on tumblr when I wrote it at... like, 1 AM or something. The circumstances here are based on what happened in my game specifically (i.e. Carver joins the Wardens, Varric didn't come along for the mission to save Leandra, Aveline was the only one who showed up to comfort Hawke, etc).
> 
> There's no real romance or anything in this besides the implication of Hawke/Fenris. Just basically some character analysis I did of Grey, who is so far my favorite Hawke. Of course, I've only played DA2 twice, but whatever, shh. The funniest part about this being my second fic about DA2 is that it's probably my least favorite of the three games released so far. I guess I just got particularly attached to my Hawke this go-round. (Also I s2g I WILL post DA:I and DA:O stuff eventually. I am neck deep in this fandom.)
> 
> So I hope this isn't terrible and maybe kind of fun in a painful way.

Varric had never seen Grey speechless.

She always had something to say. It was what he liked about her. There was always some snappy comeback to be had, some underhanded joke to be made. The number of inside laughs they’d had together were beyond count, even for him. Grey Hawke, Kirkwall’s designated silvertongue, who could smooth-talk her way off Death’s doorstep and steal its coinpurse on the way out.

And she hadn’t said a word in days.

She apparently hadn’t even left her room for the first twenty-four hours. Bodahn had turned him away, reporting that “Mistress Hawke doesn’t wish to be disturbed” before giving him all-too-full a description of the events of the last half a day, including the silently rejected meals and the doleful-looking mabari curled outside his master’s locked door.

Varric hadn’t been there for the thing, hadn’t seen Leandra, and he had been cursing himself every second for the last three days that he hadn’t insisted he’d come along. Some friend he was. He had to get the details from Anders, who was a real joy to talk to in the first place, and even more so when discussing the intricacies of necromancy and blood magic as conducted on Hawke’s hapless mother. It was obvious that Anders blamed himself for not being able to do more. They all loved Hawke, in their own ways. She’d stopped flirting about once they came back from the Deep Roads, started to keep to herself more once she lost Carver to the Grey Wardens, but she was always there when you needed her. Always. 

“Don’t blame yourself, Blondie,” he’d said. “Nobody’s chewing themselves up any worse than Hawke is right now.” He didn’t call her Silver, her designated alias a la Varric, a play on her sharp wit and the color associated with her name. It didn’t seem appropriate.

“That’s the problem.” Anders had sat down and run his hands down his face. Varric was pretty sure Anders was gone for her, but Grey had made it clear enough that she couldn’t follow him where he was going. Wherever that was. The dwarf was fairly sure he didn’t want to know. “If I knew more, maybe I could have saved her. I could have spared Hawke this pain. She doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve this.”

And she didn’t. Varric couldn’t think of anyone who deserved this less than Hawke.

But if he knew one thing, it was that life didn’t play fair. It was like playing a hand of Wicked Grace against an opponent who cheated every time and never got caught. Because how could you hold an abstract concept responsible for its injustices?

He’d seen Fenris outside of the estate at least three different times, lingering there for a few minutes before leaving again. Varric had seen a lot of dark looks on the elf’s permanently dour face, but confusion was a new one. He knew Grey was sweet on Fenris, and that Fenris at least tolerated her affection, but it was the first time he’d seen any demonstration that there was something in that elf’s shriveled up little heart besides resentment. Either way, as far as Varric knew, Fenris didn’t go inside. The only one who actually came up to speak to Hawke was Aveline, who probably forced her way in (typical fashion for her) to offer a shoulder if Hawke needed one. According to Aveline, Grey hadn’t said anything. She’d smiled sadly, offered a nod of thanks, and gone back into her room.

Now it had been three days, and not a word. Not a quip, not a quote, not a single syllable.

It was hard sometimes to remember that Grey was a human being, what with all she accomplished, everything she just _got done._ The way people gravitated to her, the magnetism and charm that came off her in waves, she really did seem like the kind of hero he had made up for a story sometimes. But this showed she was fallible. She was just one woman in the end, and in the span of three years, she’d lost her father, both her siblings (even if Carver wasn't technically dead), and now, above all else, her mother. No child he’d ever met had such a selfless sense of duty to their parents as Grey had for Leandra, and now that was over. In her eyes, Grey had failed at the only job that had ever really mattered.

In the end, when he managed to see her, he almost wished he hadn’t gone.

Grey looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks. Her normally rich dark skin looked ashen, her cheeks sunken, her gleaming black eyes dulled and lifeless. Her normally glossy dark hair was unkempt, sticking out in several directions and covering half her face. Who knew short hair could put on such a show.

She’d regarded him wordlessly through the crack in her door like she was asking him a question, and Varric suddenly felt like he shouldn’t have come, like he was intruding. It wasn’t his place to be here. He shouldn’t be the one doing this. If Fenris had any balls (or sense of empathy), he’d come up and comfort the woman himself. It was the least he could do for her. But no, here he was, Varric Tethras, face to face with his grieving best friend. Two wordsmiths, looking blankly at each other in silence. If there was a more ironic situation in the world, he couldn’t think of it right now.

After a moment, he mustered the courage to say something.

“Hey, Silver. It’s a nice day outside. You could use some sun.”

Andraste’s sacred tits, that sounded stupid.

Grey almost smiled, one of those awkward twitches at the corner of the mouth that suggested a failed attempt to look amused. 

“Not today,” she said. Her voice was raspy. “Sorry, Varric. Maybe tomorrow.”

“How about drinks tonight?” Varric cut in, not about to let the conversation fall flat now that it had started. As far as he knew, those were the first words anyone had gotten out of her since she shut herself up in her room. “You, me, the Hanged Man? Maybe we can even get your sulky elf to come along. And I’m sure Isabela wouldn’t turn down a good time.”

And… shit, he’d said something wrong. Hawke’s eyes had dropped as soon as he’d mentioned Fenris. It was right then that it clicked in his head: she’d been expecting him. She’d been waiting for him to come check on her, and he hadn’t. For a moment, Varric felt incredibly ready to introduce that sullen bastard to Bianca’s business end. Then he remembered crossing that particular Tevinter fugitive was probably suicide, and as pissed as he was, he liked being alive, with his heart securely inside his chest. Preferably even inside his ribcage.

“Hey, look,” he backtracked, trying to wedge himself between the door and its frame so Hawke couldn’t shut it in his face. “You’ve been in here for days now. We’re all worried about you, Hawke. And you know how Daisy gets when she’s worried. Stay in here much longer and she’ll start losing her hair or something.”

Grey frowned. He’d gotten her there, he knew. Grey fretted particularly over Merrill, in a very distinctively big-sister kind of way.

“All I’m saying,” he continued, “is that maybe some fresh air would be good for you. A walk around town, you know? Maybe we can even find some trouble to get into.”

“I’m not really feeling like trouble today. Maybe tomorrow.” _Maybe tomorrow._ That phrase again.

“You gonna say that tomorrow, too?” he countered.

Grey said nothing. And just like before, it made Varric unspeakably uncomfortable to be looking at her face with her mouth so unmoving.

“I just,” she started, then stopped, ran a hand over her face. “I just need some time. I’ll– I’ll be fine. I just need… some time.”

Varric was a realist. He could tell when he was fighting a losing battle, and this was one of those times. Hawke was tragically stubborn, and he could barely keep his foot in the door right now. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said. Grey didn’t reply. 

“You’ve gotta come out eventually,” he said again. This time, he spoke to a shut door.

\---

The next day, Hawke left her room. She put on her traveling clothes and grabbed her staff. She gathered a group and went traipsing around Kirkwall like she always did, and she smiled and laughed and made witty comments like she always did. She brushed off every inquiry after her own personal feelings, responding with a dismissive “I’m fine, really,” the kind that was final, the kind that said, “Don’t ask me again.” And they didn’t. None of them did.

They left it alone. They didn’t push. Varric didn’t push.

And maybe, he thought, looking back, maybe he should have.


End file.
